


Collecting Stamps at the End of the World

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean/Castiel pre-slash.  Two weeks after the world doesn't end, Dean starts getting postcards from Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collecting Stamps at the End of the World

  
Two weeks after world doesn't end, Dean starts getting postcards from Castiel.

Castiel doesn't really seem to understand the concept; too accustomed to instant communication and face to face contact, but he tries, and Dean is kind of embarrassingly happy that he makes the effort.  It's nice to know the guy is still alive and not getting himself into (too much) trouble.  He'd lost most of his angel mojo in the fight, and despite Dean's best arguments he wouldn't come along on the road with them. 

"I'm...out of touch," he'd admitted ponderously, as if that had ever been in question.  Earth shattering realization that the guy who's three-thousand-something years old and not technically human is out of touch with humanity. Castiel once spent a full ten minutes staring intently as Dean mended a small tear in a shirt before he gave in and asked what Dean was doing.

So yeah, Dean worries about him.  But only a little.

  


Dean spends ten minutes cackling over 'Coyote Buttes' before he reads it again and realizes something.

"Turn of the Screw?  You two got a geeky book club going or something?"

"No," Sam says, which means _Yes._   Dean rolls his eyes; it's a miracle he's been able to maintain his cool status when he's constantly surrounded by giant dorks.

"What the hell is with the rock stuff anyway.  I mean, yeah it looks cool, but why couldn't he celebrate the un-Apocalypse by going to Vegas like we did?"

Sam shrugs and tries unsuccessfully to hide a worn paperback under the table.  "He's thousands of years old, Dean.  Maybe he likes to see things that have been around longer than him.  It must be hard for him to adjust to this."  He waves his hand around vaguely, trying to indicate 'the world, mortality, and life as we know' in one single gesture.  It's a lot to ask, but Sam's got massive hands.

"Huh."

  


"Cas went scuba diving."

Sam is standing outside the post office with a perplexed look on his face, holding up another postcard in one hand and the rest of their mail and credit card applications (and the bills they never pay) clutched in the other.

"Who did what now?"

"Castiel. He went scuba diving in Belize."

"Kinda sounds like the opening line of a 'man walks into a bar' joke. An Angel of the Lord goes scuba diving in Central America and says -"  Dean tries to think of an appropriate punch line. Sam jumps in.

"I think someone sold him marijuana."

"What the hell kind of joke is that?"

"Uh, the factual kind." Sam hands over the paper. _Highly valued regional herb?_ Holy shit. Someone sold Castiel pot.  And there's no way Dean can work damage control on this from thousands of miles away.

"Well, it's not like he's gonna light up. Sounds like the guy just handed him a bag. Why the hell would someone do that?  Maybe Cas tips really well." Neither of them know where Castiel gets his money. Both of them are a little bit afraid to ask.

"What if he eats it?"

Sam always rains on his parade.

Dean flips the postcard over a couple of times and wonders what the hell 'cenote' means. Giant blue thing in the ocean; it's close enough. The postcard doesn't offer any advice.

"We should call him."

Sam lifts his eyebrows and nods, _yeah duh._

  


 

Dean snorts. Castiel has slowly been developing a sense of humor, and sometimes it's a very fine line to walk trying to figure out if he's really serious or trying to make a joke. Dean is betting this is the former. Castiel tends to hang on eagerly for a reaction when he tries to joke, watching or listening intently to see if he's gotten it right. Dean wonders what the hell Castiel was planning on doing when he got there if it really was an open door down to the Pit.

"Holy crap," is Sam's reaction. Not because of the postcard, though. Like the freak he is, Sam has the history of the Hell Gate stashed away somewhere in his gigantic brain. "The miners hit this giant pocket of gas - all their equipment and a bunch of the miners fell in. No one wanted to go down there because of the gas, so they just lit it up."

Despite himself, Dean is intrigued. "They found a giant crater full of gas and set it on fire? Awesome. So Cas just happened to be there at the time?"

"No, dude, they lit it like thirty years ago. There's still gas under the surface or something."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

Dean flips the postcard back over. Uzbekistan, dammit. It's the first time he's been tempted to follow after Castiel, rocks and big holes in the ground Dean could care less, but giant pits of fire? He's almost willing to get on a plane for that. Almost. But there isn't enough Valium in the world to get him through that flight.

  
They spend an entire month laid up in Flint, Michigan. Dean has a broken tibia and Sam's got three cracked ribs and they're both in foul enough moods that being in car all day every day would be a phenomenally bad idea. Stuck in a motel room together all day every day isn't much better, but at least Dean can hop (slowly and painfully) to the bathroom or out to the curb when he needs a break.

When the finally get back on the road, they head straight for Omaha by unspoken agreement. They both know the postcards must be piling up.

Dean is forced to admit that he's missed the updates. He's gotten used to Castiel not being around, and they trade phone calls often enough that Mr. Julio Marquez is racking up a pretty substantial phone bill. International calling rates are no joke.

But there's something special about the postcards, holding them and seeing Castiel's messy scrawl and imagining the look of concentration on his face as he writes.

  


  


Sam laughs out loud when he sees the postcard from Bolivia, the first real true laugh Dean's heard since they'd managed to shove Lucifer back in his cage. Dean swipes the postcard and holds it up between them.

"Joke or no joke?"

It's a running game. Sam is still snorting into his fist, too preoccupied to answer.

"I bet you five bucks it is."

Sam wipes his face and leans back in his seat. "No way I'm taking that. It's too obvious, right?"

"Laundry duty for the next month?"

"Hell no. We still haven't washed the clothes from that swamp monster hunt back in Louisiana."

Damn. Then Dean reads the second one. He reads it again.

"Dude I think Cas is shacked up with the bell boy."

"What?"

"Read it." He hands over the postcard and tries to imagine it. Castiel, bruised and limping, and some dark hot latino offering to 'help' in beautifully accented English. He doesn't notice his hands are clenched tight on the steering wheel until the leather starts creaking in protest. "That's just unprofessional," he says to himself.

"Huh. Tropical climate, ice cream, and massages? Sounds like Castiel is doing alright for himself." Sam scowls. "Better'n us, anyway."

"We just spent four weeks sitting on our asses doing nothing. You can't possibly want to take another vacation can you?"

"Nah, just. It's funny to see how well he's adjusting. He's taking his humanity better than most of the people that're born with it."

"Yeah well, you didn't see bizarro world's 2014 version of him. We catch him high as a kite again or he starts throwing orgies to experience one-ness with god or whatever, and I don't care how long the flight is, we're stepping in to put a stop to it."

"Learning how to be human when the world is ending is probably a lot different than learning to be one now."

"Bad shit still happens to good people. Maybe the death toll is a whole lot lower, but I don't really see too much of a difference."

 _I miss the sound of my brother's and sister's voices._ Yeah, no way adjusting is easy, averted Apocalypse or not.

"And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not having your baby," he says, completely serious.

"Okay then." Sam rubs one hand over his eyes and groans. "I'm gonna be spending our next phone call with him arguing about the Flood, aren't I?"

"Yep. You could just follow my stellar example to avoid those conversations, you know."

"What? Every time he asks a question you say 'magnets.' How is that helpful?"

"I never said it was helpful for _him._ "

  


* * *

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: Yes, all of these are real places. Only the postcards are fake. ;)
> 
> There's a short coda to this fic here.


End file.
